


and from my lungs bloom tulips

by inevitablemeow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Explicit Sexual Content, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pining, Post-War, Pre-War, am i ashamed of myself?, do i have a fetish for people vomiting flowers?, in appearance but not in name, not really - Freeform, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27909829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inevitablemeow/pseuds/inevitablemeow
Summary: A hand went to his muzzle, deft fingers digging under the firm leather, and it was yanked free.A shower of tulip petals burst from the mask, raining down to the pavement in a cascade of red satin. The Soldier was unperturbed. The tulips were his life, one of his only constants. He knew the tulips better than he knew most anything else. His ever-present companions.But the look of horror on the golden man’s face spoke untold stories, deep secrets that the Soldier had heard whispers of in his head only when he was the most alone.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Male Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 91





	and from my lungs bloom tulips

There was an old folktale that Bucky’s ma used to tell him whenever he came home lovestruck and dumb with it. An old wives’ tale told to children with kind hearts, a warning to hold the strength of their love close, to keep it from consuming them.

“You’ll get the flower sickness, James,” she’d say, wagging her finger. “You’ve got to be careful with that sweet heart of yours. You can’t just give it away.”

He’d roll his eyes, give her a wry smile, and laugh. “Not givin’ anything away, Ma, don’t worry. I’m safe from the flowers.”

It was just a tale, a protective lie spun for soft, gentle souls like Bucky’s, but he couldn’t help but think about it every time his heart would long for someone. Still, he grew up loving so fiercely that his heart ached in his chest, like it was trying to break free and run from whatever hurt had befallen him this time.

He had his share of girlfriends, young love, soft kisses and blissful dates, followed inevitably by heartbreak so keen he thought he’d die every time. 

Dolores left him behind at the movie theater two months after they started going steady. Edith stood him up after their thirteenth date. Midge lasted a good deal longer, almost six months, but in the end she left him, too.

Being left again and again hurt so acutely that Bucky could swear he felt it in his body, a physical ache that lasted long after the girl was gone. Each time, he feared the flowers, and each time, he came out the other side stronger.

The one time he was sure he’d sprout roses from his throat was when he met Thomas.

Thomas was beautiful. Strong, sweet, funny. Thoughtful, and kind in ways that a lot of men weren’t. When Bucky had first laid eyes on him at the docks, his heart stuttered in his chest, and he was dizzy with it.

He raced right home and told Steve, the only person he could trust.

_“Stevie,” Bucky said as he shouldered through the front door of their little apartment. He closed the door and slid the lock, dropping his coat to the floor and toeing off his boots. “Steve?”_

_“In here, Buck,” Steve called from the kitchen._

_Bucky padded through the apartment, bare feet creaking on the boards of the hardwood floor. It was cold, echoing the chill that seeped in from the outside; March, just before Bucky’s twentieth birthday._

_“Stevie, I gotta tell you somethin’,” he said before he was even in the room. “And I need you to keep it to yourself, got it?” He made it to the kitchen, stepping around the corner to lean against the doorframe._

_Steve was at the oven, heating their dinner of shepherd’s pie, his ma’s recipe. “Who you in love with this time?” he teased, not even looking up from the stove. Bucky could see a little grin on his face._

_Bucky sighed, and he couldn’t help the smile he cracked. “He’s somethin’ else.” His thoughts drifted to bare tanned arms, a shirt half-open and stained with dirt, the softest brown eyes he’d ever seen, a laugh like summer thunder._

_And then Steve was right in front of him, snapping him out of his daydream. “He?”_

_“Yeah,” Bucky croaked, smile sliding off his face. “Thomas.”_

_Steve’s expression was unreadable. Those bright eyes were locked on Bucky’s, like he was digging around Bucky’s soul. He was welcome to, Bucky had nothing to hide from him. He never would._

_“Buck,” Steve murmured, brow furrowing the littlest bit. “You gotta be careful with that.” He lifted a deft hand and laid it over Bucky’s heart, and Bucky hoped he could feel it pounding away in the cage of his ribs. “You know what they’d do to you.”_

_“Yeah,” Bucky breathed. “I know.”_

_It was quiet for a long moment before a soft smile relaxed Steve’s face. “Tell me about ‘im.”_

He invited Thomas out after work three days later, and a week after that they were meeting in secret whenever they could. It was the happiest Bucky thought he’d ever been.

——

Bucky was truly, madly in love, like he’d never been before. Thomas consumed his every waking thought, from his first conscious breath in the morning to the last contented sigh before he fell asleep at night.

A couple months in, as he laid under Thomas in his own bed, he cracked. He’d never cracked before.

“I love you,” Bucky breathed, eyes wide and wet as he looked up at Thomas. He buried a hand in Thomas’ thick black hair, clutching him like he’d disappear if he didn’t.

Thomas froze above him, brow furrowing as his chocolate eyes flicked around Bucky’s face. “Bucky… sweetheart.” And then he was pulling away, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and gathering his clothes. 

Bucky’s heart shattered as he watched Thomas prepare to walk out of his life, like everyone else had.

When Thomas was dressed, he turned his gaze back to Bucky, something like guilt written all over his handsome face. “Honey, it’s not like that.”

And then he was gone, without giving Bucky a chance to say anything in return. Bucky supposed he’d said enough.

Steve found him later that night, blue moonlight pouring through the gap in the curtains as Bucky laid in bed right where Thomas left him. He hadn’t gotten up for a thing. He wasn’t even dressed, still sore in a way that said that just a short while ago, he wasn’t painfully alone.

“Bucky?” Steve murmured, poking his head around the door that was still cracked like Thomas left it. “Where’s Thomas? Thought we were doin’ a late dinner.”

A rush of breath choked out of Bucky like his chest had collapsed, every drop of emotion spilling out of him in a single exhale. He rolled to his side, facing the wall, and he willed away the tears that just wouldn’t stop, that hadn’t stopped for hours.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve said, swinging the door open and padding across the bare wood floor. “He didn’t.”

“He did,” Bucky croaked, turning his face into his pillow to muffle the ugly sob that tore out of his lungs. It was a wretched sound, like someone had ripped it out of his throat full force. He hadn’t cried like that in his whole life.

A deceptively strong arm circled Bucky’s waist, rolling him to his back, and then Steve was just _there_ , in Bucky’s space, eyes glittering like the ocean, and just as deep. “He’s a fool,” Steve hissed. “A damn fool.”

“What did I do, Stevie?” Bucky cried, brow furrowed as he looked up into all ninety pounds of the righteous fury above him.

Steve let go a shuddering breath, like it took all of his strength to not roar. “Not a goddamn thing. Ain’t nobody good enough for you, Buck, that’s what it is. Won’t ever be. You hear me?”

Bucky tipped his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut to pull away from that gaze, those eyes alight with passion, with love.

“Look at me,” Steve said, voice deep and sharp. A cool hand cupped Bucky’s jaw, turning his head to meet Steve’s eyes. “You don’t need ‘em. You got me, always. What do you always tell me, Bucky Barnes?”

Bucky sobbed again, curling his fingers in Steve’s good button down. “’Til the end of the line.”

Steve smiled, all teeth, all vengeance. “That’s right. So fuck ‘em. Now come eat dinner.”

Bucky’s heart stuttered something fierce, and he couldn’t breathe for a long moment as he watched Steve leave the bedroom to no doubt set dinner out. He didn’t really understand why, but God, he just wanted to do what Steve told him to. Steve would never lead him astray. Bucky could follow him blind and he knew he’d be safe all the while.

So he listened. Dragged himself out of bed, tugged on his most comfortable clothes, and wandered out to join Steve at the table. Stew was steaming in a pot on the stove, filling the cozy apartment with the smell of comfort, of home.

“Steve,” Bucky finally said, a little stunned. 

Steve turned from the stove and shot him a half-smile, something so soft and fond and genuine that Bucky thought he’d float out of his own body. “Yeah, Buck?”

“I love you,” Bucky said, for the second time that day. It was better, this time, just true and cosmically right. He wanted to say it again, and only barely stopped himself from doing it.

Still smiling, Steve sighed, spooning stew into two chipped bowls and passing one to Bucky. “Know you do.”

Bucky nodded, swallowing hard as he picked up his spoon. “Good.”

——

There were no roses for Thomas.

——

It wasn’t until about a year later when he was twenty-one that he really felt it, sitting with Steve in the apartment they shared.

It was June, stifling, and Bucky sat across from Steve at their rickety second hand kitchen table. A turkey sandwich sat in front of him, cut in half to share.

“Mr. Collins asked me to pick up my old route,” Steve said, picking up half of the sandwich. He took a big bite, chewed slow, and swallowed before he continued. “Said he’ll pay me a quarter more a day if I do.”

“Steve,” Bucky sighed, beyond tired of this conversation. “I keep telling you. Your asthma is bad enough as it is in the summer, don’t need’ta go makin’ it worse for a quarter more a day.”

Steve rolled his eyes, chewing through another big bite. “Buck, honestly. We could use the money. ‘Sides, asthma’s been a lot better lately.” 

Suddenly, he heaved a cough, dry and vicious, clutching at his chest as he gasped air into his lungs. 

Bucky shot out of his chair, rushing around to stand behind Steve, hands pressed firm to his back to feel the air moving beneath his ribs. It was rattling, rough, and Bucky stopped breathing right along with him. 

And then just as suddenly, it stopped. Steve turned to look at him with an irritated frown. “I’m fine, Buck, honest. First time I’ve coughed like that all day.”

Bucky sighed, leaning over Steve as his eyes squeezed shut. “Please don’t take the route. I’m gettin’ gray hairs just thinking about it.”

“Gray would suit you,” Steve teased, leaning back against his chair. His golden head laid back and settled right over Bucky’s heart, hair fluffy from the summer breeze and streaked almost white from the sun. 

Bucky’s heart stuttered hard, and it dawned on him then and there, as his fingers carded through that hair, as the apartment sat still and the sounds of traffic rolled in through the open window; he loved Steve Rogers. 

It wasn’t like any of the times before. It was gentle, and it was a slow thing, a buildup that had been coming for over a decade. His heart wasn’t pounding in his chest, his breathing was deep and calm. 

And yet, as his fingers moved through silken hair and as his gaze drifted, unfocused, he thought that it was better. The best. He didn’t feel sick with this love, he just felt full. Warm. Like nothing before.

Loving Steve Rogers was the easiest thing Bucky had ever done. 

And it quietly remained that way until he got his letter saying his numbers had come up. That day, Bucky learned that loving Steve Rogers would be the hardest thing he’d ever do, too. Loving him and leaving him behind.

A few months later, sitting on the Front surrounded by the sounds of an army, he developed a cough. From the cold, he told himself. From being outside all the time.

It was persistent, but not violent. Just a cough. Medic said it was allergies and sent him on his way. So he just lived with it, a cough that would tickle his throat and be gone as soon as it came.

And if his chest tightened every time he thought of Steve, it was just coincidence. 

——

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, 32557038.”

The man in front of Bucky rolled his eyes, sighing as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, we are well aware of who you are, Sergeant. Please cooperate. Tell us the position of your command unit.” The man’s accent was German, thick.

Bucky’s sharp glare deepened as he spat a mouthful of blood. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, 32557038. That’s all you’re gettin’ from me, pal.”

Another deep sigh, disappointed. “Very well.” The man turned away, murmuring commands to the others in the room. Bucky’s German was okay at best, but he understood enough. _Procedure. Serum. Tonight_.

“Do your worst,” Bucky said, bloody teeth bared in a fierce grin.

The leader turned back to Bucky, brows raised. “Oh, Sergeant,” he said as a slow smile stretched his cheeks. “We will.”

They came to him that night, strapped him to a table, and stuck needles in him until his blood felt like it was on fire, burning through his whole body as he shook and screamed. He’d never felt pain like that in his life, like shards of glass were swimming in his veins as his vision went cloudy from the agony of it.

Eventually, the pain settled out, and exhaustion swept over him all at once. They left him there, alone on a table, as his mind drifted miles and miles away, to an apartment, to ocean eyes.

“Sergeant James… B—“ he mumbled, head rolling back and forth as he struggled to remain conscious. “Barnes. 32557…038… James….”

When Steve’s face appeared above him, much higher than it should have been, Bucky thought _this is it, I’ve lost it. I’m dying_.

“Is that…”

“It’s me,” the face said, concern etched in every handsome feature. “It’s Steve.”

Bucky's heart flipped, and his head started to clear of the fog that hung over him like a down comforter. “Steve?”

Steve cracked a barely-there smile. “Yeah, Buck. Let’s get out of here.” Two big hands gripped the leather restraints that held Bucky to the table and yanked, ripping them clean off in a show of strength that made Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Steve,” Bucky said, smiling despite it all.

“I thought you were dead,” Steve croaked, helping Bucky off the table. He was taller than Bucky, now, by a good few inches, and strong enough to hold most of Bucky’s weight as he leaned heavily against his side.

Bucky frowned as a strong arm heaved him up, supporting him as they started off out of the lab. “I thought you were smaller.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“What happened to you?”

Steve shrugged one broad shoulder, half dragging Bucky down the dark hall. “I joined the army.”

Bucky took a deep breath as a flare of anxious fury ignited in his belly. “Did it hurt?”

“A little.”

“Is it permanent?”

Another shrug. “So far.”

The chatter stopped as they rushed through the facility, making their way to the exit, to freedom. Steve had freed the others, and Bucky could hear the fight raging outside.

And there it was, the door, the outside that Bucky hadn’t seen in a long time. The Red Skull escaped without much of a fight, disappearing into some futuristic plane that Bucky had no time to comprehend.

The facility shook as an explosion reverberated through the cavernous room.

“Get out of here!” Steve yelled from across the massive gap in the catwalk. Fire burned high below them, and the whole place was ready to blow. His eyes were frantic, but somehow disturbingly resigned.

“ _No_!” Bucky roared, leaning over the railing in a white-knuckle grip. “ _Not without you_!”

The resignation burned out of those eyes in a fraction of a second, shoved out by a determination so fierce that Bucky’s heart beat double time against his ribs. Steve gripped the metal railing in both hands and pulled, bending the thing clean in half to clear a path.

Bucky’s eyes flicked from the rail to Steve’s face and then to the miles-wide gap in the catwalk.

The leap was staggering, an overwhelming feat, and as Steve tumbled to a graceful roll, Bucky finally sucked in a rough breath, hauling Steve up so he could drag him away from the fire that was ready to consume them both. 

There was a firefight.

And then there was just miles of forest, muddy bootprints, the worn faces of hundreds of soldiers, all on their way back to the only home they could get to. Saved from death by an angel full of heavenly fire.

The bewildered medics cleared Bucky to go after a brief exam, and he trudged across camp toward a tent on the far end with his head down, hands shoved in his pockets. His dog tags jangled with each weary step, a rhythmic clinking that lulled Bucky out of his own head as he walked toward the only person who mattered anymore.

_Steve_. So much bigger, now. And healthy. Bucky could see the pink flush of life in his full cheeks, skin no longer sickly pale. His breath no longer rattled out of his chest, and Bucky was almost positive he could hear better.

This was confirmed when the flaps of the tent Bucky had been making his way toward flipped open, and out stepped Steve, looking like a Greek statue. 

He’d always been so pretty, but now? Now he was breathtaking. Divine. He looked as if God himself had sent him here for some almighty purpose that Bucky wasn’t good enough to know. An angel, the kind that bled, the kind that killed. A soldier.

“Buck,” Steve sighed, stepping aside to let Bucky in. It was warm in the tent, crowded with crates and two cots. Two. Bucky’s heart lurched as his eyes flicked between them.

“Why?” Bucky asked quietly as he avoided Steve’s eyes. He wasn’t even sure what he meant by that, what _why_ he was asking, but it was the only question he had.

Steve knew. He always knew. “I had to. You know I did. And I…” He sighed again and Bucky looked up, watching as Steve’s shoulders slumped and he caved in on himself, smaller than he had been since Bucky had last seen him in Brooklyn. “I wanted to be here, with you.”

Bucky’s face twisted with grief and hurt as he doubled over, clutching his own sides as he choked on a rough cough. It was more painful than usual, but it was over quickly enough, morphing right into an ugly sob that shook Bucky to the very depths. 

“Bucky,” Steve murmured, stepping in close to pull Bucky flush to his chest. God, Bucky could rest his cheek on Steve’s shoulder, now, press his face right against a warm neck that thumped with an even, healthy pulse. “It’s okay.”

“I missed you so fucking much,” Bucky cried, hands coming up to grip painfully at Steve’s coat. He felt no shame in it, in the tears he knew were rolling down into Steve’s collar. How could he feel shame for something like this? Something fundamental. Something as old as time.

“Missed you, too,” Steve said, voice rumbling against Bucky’s cheek. “Every goddamn day. But I’m here. Made it to you like I said I would.”

Bucky wept, long and hard, clutching Steve tight as he poured every ounce of love he had out with his tears. He wasn’t sure how long Steve held him like that, only that it was dark when they left the tent for dinner.

As he fell asleep that night, laid out in a cot a few bare feet away from Steve’s, Bucky stared up at the canvas with eyes unfocused, living out every moment he’d ever spent with Steve to ease himself into sleep. 

He only woke coughing a few times that night, much better than usual, but the concern on Steve’s face made it harder to breathe than ever before.

——

It was so goddamn cold on the Front, winter sweeping through too quick, dragging frigid wind and heaps of snow with it.

But the fire was warm, at least enough to keep Bucky’s bones from freezing through. He sniffled as he sat and shivered, holding his hands close to the orange flames in an effort to thaw them.

Someone settled on the bench beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “Hey, Buck.”

Bucky smiled, eyes on the fire. “Hey, punk. You as frozen as I am?”

Steve huffed a soft laugh. “I run awful warm, now. Not too bothered. You need my coat? I’m good without it.”

Bucky gave him a wry look. “Don’t be stupid. Wear your damn coat.” He shuffled a little, kicking his feet closer to the heat in front of him. All things considered, he didn’t feel too bad. He had the fleeting thought, though, that maybe he ought to have been colder. He tried not to dwell on that fact.

“Train tomorrow,” Steve murmured, looking out into the woods. The sun was setting, burning red and orange through the trees of the snow covered forest. He turned to Bucky with a heavy sigh. “Want you to know you can hang back. Any of you can. Don’t gotta follow me into death.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, turning to give the man a grin that only felt half forced. “I’ll follow you anywhere. You know that. ’Til the end of the line.”

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve breathed, sagging a little, avoiding Bucky’s eyes. “I can’t... I can’t tell you how much I’m glad I have you with me. I don’t know how I’d manage it alone.”

Bucky hummed, bumping Steve’s shoulder with his own. “Never could do anything without each other, could we. Mrs. Murdock always said we were as good as married.” 

He laughed softly, picturing the old woman who lived next door to them back in their little shithole apartment in Brooklyn. He wondered how she was doing, without Steve to chase her cat around, without Bucky to haul her groceries up three flights of stairs.

His smile fell. He missed home. Maybe they’d get back there, eventually. Maybe they’d be so lucky.

The quiet was calm, peaceful as it stretched between the two men. Bucky’s eyes slid closed for a moment and he just breathed, frigid air warming in his lungs, puffing out in a cloud of white.

“Gotta go talk to Peg,” Steve said eventually, knees cracking as he stood and brushed his pants off with his gloved hands. “Last minute arrangements.”

“Sure thing, Cap,” Bucky said, giving Steve a lazy salute. “Come find me later.”

Steve sighed, cracking a wry smile. “Will do, Sarge.”

And then Bucky was alone again, silver eyes on the flickering fire, face falling into something spiritless, something hurt.

_Peggy_.

She was somethin’ else. A pistol. Pretty and smart and stubborn and strong. Exactly what Steve deserved.

But, God, did it make something in Bucky’s heart _want_. An inescapable longing filled him to the brim whenever he watched Steve stand next to Peggy, cracking jokes and giving her these looks that Bucky had never seen on Steve’s face before. Looks that he found her returning in kind.

Steve was so different, in so many ways, and Bucky wanted, more than anything, to be sixteen again. It was all easier, then. Clear cut. Simple. Bucky and Steve. Steve and Bucky. 

It wasn’t like that anymore. Steve had the Commandos, and he had Peggy. He didn’t need Bucky anymore. And that thought hurt like a knife to the gut, sharp and burning and mean, twisted by the cruel hand of fate before it was yanked out and shoved back in. 

He didn’t need Bucky, and things would change. They already had.

Bucky sighed, frowning at the sudden tickle in the back of his throat. It was his only warning before his lungs heaved, cold air tightening his throat as he coughed and coughed, bent over where he sat as he struggled to catch his breath. A long minute of this passed before it stopped, sudden as it had started.

Panting, Bucky’s wide, unfocused eyes fell to the forest floor as he willed his heart to slow. He’d never coughed like that, not in his life. When his breathing finally settled down, he swallowed, and the taste of pollen hung on the back of his tongue, so out of place in the winter wilderness that surrounded him.

He ripped the cap off of his canteen and took a long drink, rinsing out his mouth as best he could. Still, the taste of pollen remained, tangy and green, like a dandelion sitting on his tongue. 

He thought, then, that maybe his ma’s stories were true. Maybe he would die of a broken heart, just as she’d always told him he would.

——

And then he was reaching for Steve, but not far enough.

The fall passed in a blink, and the impact was excruciating. Pain seared through his entire body, and he was sick with it, head spinning as he looked up into the swirling snow. He thought he’d rather have just died.

The cold seeped in as he laid there in the snow, body going numb as time slowed to a crawl.They wouldn’t look for him, he knew that, even as much as he hoped they would. They wouldn’t have expected him to live.

Regret washed over him in an icy wave as his gaze dragged up the ragged cliffside, tracing the stunning height he’d fallen. 

He could think of nothing but the look on Steve’s face, anguished, guilty. Horrified eyes wide and wet as they got further and further away, until they disappeared into the cloud of snow. Bucky closed his eyes and cleared his head of it, dragging up sweet memories instead.

_Coney Island in the summer, lights making the night sky so bright he could hardly see the stars. Powdery funnel cake, sticky ocean air, and a ferris wheel so high you’d think you could touch the clouds._

_Hearty stew cooked on the winter nights when they were lucky enough to scrape together the ingredients for it. The clinking of spoons on chipped, hand-me-down bowls, white with blue flowers. Oven-warmed bread, cracking and steaming as it was split open._

_Returning from the docks after a long shift to find Steve slumped over the kitchen table, loose with sleep, face pressed to whatever drawing he happened to be working on. Gently waking him, half-carrying him to bed, wetting a cloth to wipe the charcoal from his cheek._

_Quiet nights spent tangled on the couch, not an inch of space between them as they read their books, classics for Steve, pulp science fiction for Bucky. Soft, unabashed touches, the kind stemming from utmost comfort and closeness. Love, Bucky thought, hoped._

_Love._

A painful cough rattled out of his chest, lasting ages and ages, echoing up through the ravine to disappear into the mist. It was agony, ever-long, and Bucky’s vision blurred down to a pinpoint as he gasped for breath. 

And then a single red tulip tumbled over his lips to settle into the snow beside him, crimson petals blending perfectly with the blood that stained the pillows of white.

Bucky’s last conscious thought was that it was pretty, and that the petals must have been like satin.

——

_“And today?”_

_Two pairs of eyes. Familiar. But malicious._

_“Only five today. The number is decreasing with each wipe.”_

_Cold steel over bare skin, restraining. Too strong to break._

_“Is he free of it?”_

_“Soon. Very soon. At this point, though, it shouldn’t kill him.”_

_Concrete. One bare lightbulb. The taste of copper._

_“Very good. Wipe him again, to be sure.”_

_Footsteps._

_White-hot, blinding pain._

——

Another successful hit. Two clean shots, zero witnesses, in and out in twenty minutes.

Crouched in the Moscow safe house, the Soldier cleaned his gun, neatly and efficiently disassembling it over a towel laid out on the floor. Each piece was wiped clean, carefully examined, and then reassembled.

He would report back in the evening, when he could get around under the cover of night. For now, he could break down every firearm in the safe house, clean it, and put it all back together.

As he slid the pieces back in place, something flickered from the very depths of his memory.

_“Don’tcha think it’s clean, Buck?” asked a man who looked as though he’d been hand crafted by the old gods and the new. “You’ve pulled the damn thing apart three times today.” Golden hair, shining like a halo, a pink curve of a smile, and eyes that looked deep enough to drown in._

_The Soldier’s gaze fell to his own hands, where an antique sniper rifle was in pieces on a blanket on the muddy ground. His hands were covered in oil, both of them flesh and bone._

_“Keeps my hands busy, punk, I’m goin’ crazy out here.”_

The loud metallic _clunk_ of something falling out of his hand startled him out of his memory as his eyes snapped back into focus, heart racing.

Bare wooden walls. Ugly brown carpet. One bare lightbulb. The safe house.

Swallowing a sigh, the Soldier picked up the last piece and slid it into place with a satisfying click, laying the reassembled pistol on the towel. He picked up the next one and started again, and the ringing sounds of metal moving against itself filled the room once more.

Two crimson tulips sat beside him, glistening and half-crumpled, the only color in the room beside the red star on his shoulder.

——

The man from the bridge was unlike anything the Soldier had ever seen. There was a fire to his fight, not from rage, not from hate and evil like all the others. There was something fundamentally different about him, and the Soldier had to fight against every instinct that told him to stand down. 

The two soldiers traded blow after blow, throwing each other to the ground again and again as they grappled in the alarmingly empty streets of DC. The Soldier fought with everything he had, despite his mind screaming at him to stop. 

And then a hand went to his muzzle, deft fingers digging under the firm leather, and it was yanked free. 

A shower of tulip petals burst from the mask, raining down to the pavement in a cascade of red satin. The Soldier was unperturbed. The tulips were his life, one of his only constants. He knew the tulips better than he knew most anything else. His ever-present companions. 

But the look of horror on the golden man’s face spoke untold stories, deep secrets that the Soldier had heard whispers of in his head only when he was the most alone. 

“Bucky?” the man said, gaping as those blue, blue eyes raked over the Soldier’s face. There was a pain in those eyes that the Soldier couldn’t even begin to understand. 

The Soldier frowned, heart hammering in his chest as that voice washed over him like an ocean wave, heavy with something he couldn’t name and familiar in a way he was afraid to think of. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The golden man’s face crumpled, a confused sort of anguish evident in every line of his handsome face. 

The Soldier lifted his gun, hesitating for a moment too long to pull the trigger. A man with wings kicked him away and he tumbled to the pavement, rolling back into a stand as quickly as he could. 

_Bucky_.

The Soldier growled and shook his head, turning on his heel and sprinting down an alley. He was compromised. And the golden man had backup. _Good_ backup. Something about that made something in the Soldier’s very core heat, just a degree.

As the Soldier watched the man and his unit get packed up and taken away, he crouched low, heaving a painful cough that had him choked of breath for a long time. 

More tulips. Waxy, red as blood. He lifted one perfect bloom from the ground, pinched carefully between two metal fingers, and brought it to his lips. The petals were soft, silky against his skin, and so delicate. The tulips were beautiful, and the Soldier had the sudden urge to keep them. 

He picked each one up and tucked them into the folds of his suit, pressed flat under leather and steel. He stood from his crouch and shook his head of all the confusing thoughts that bubbled up, ignoring the questions he wanted so desperately to ask. 

He had to report back.

——

“You’re my _mission_!”

The Soldier was on a plummeting helicarrier, wind whipping his hair around his face as he hung over the golden man laying bloodied and beaten beneath him. Two shots to the gut, fists of flesh and metal, and all the fury that the Soldier possessed; nothing was enough to stop this man.

His handsome face was black and blue, swollen and split open, and as the Soldier growled and raised his fist for the last time, those eyes opened, blue like the sky, blue like the ocean, blue like an icy death.

“Then finish it,” the man said as the fight drained from his body in an instant. He went still and loose beneath the Soldier, pink lips parted as he strained for breath. “‘Cause I’m with you… ’til the end of the line.”

The Soldier reared back, eyes wide as he panted and stared down at the dying man laying under him. Wind still whipped around them and the hellish groaning of collapsing steel filled the air.

But there was a moment, so brief but so bright, where the Soldier saw this man, so big and so beautiful, as much smaller. Bruised cheek, wry grin, bloodied teeth. Stunning.

“ _I had ‘em on the ropes_ ,” that voice said.

“ _Sure you did,_ ” a man replied. And that was the Soldier’s voice.

The helicarrier shook hard as a metal beam crashed down from above them, busting through the floor and knocking the man away. A gaping hole opened up, and the man fell, down, down.

As the Soldier watched the golden man tumble out of the helicarrier, dropping from the sky like an angel whose wings had been clipped, he was struck through the heart with another memory so vivid that he almost lost his footing on the rumbling wreckage under his boots. 

Snow. A freight car. Eyes as deep as the oldest oceans, hair like spun gold. A gloved hand, reaching, not far enough but so close it wasn’t fair. 

Falling. Falling. 

The Soldier choked out a rough breath, squared his shoulders, and dove head first into the water that churned like a sea storm from the ruin that rained from the sky. 

The impact was harsh and the water was frigid, and it took the Soldier a few too many precious seconds to right himself and surface. As a great metal skeleton fell from above, he searched the waters, frantic, and found nothing but rapidly-sinking debris. 

He dove under, eyes squinting in the murky water as he looked for the uniform that haunted him like a ghost from the past sent to destroy every carefully constructed wall in his mangled brain. He had no time, the helicarriers were coming down fast and he needed to get out of the water.

_Not without you!_

The words felt like a brand, white-hot for a flash as he surged through the waves, kicking his feet as he searched for the ghost. 

There. Sinking alongside steel and glass, eyes closed, face frighteningly slack. 

The Soldier roared, diving toward the drowning man and snatching him by the collar of his suit. He was heavy, so heavy, but the Soldier was strong. 

The shore was a relief under his waterlogged boots, gravel crunching as he dragged the man out of the river with all his strength.

He was still, and he wasn’t breathing. 

The Soldier’s heart lurched as he knelt beside the man, unsure of what to do. These hands, flesh and metal, they weren’t made to save, to heal. They were made to take life, not give it.

A ragged, choked cough broke from the man’s chest as water dribbled from his parted lips. His eyes remained closed, but as he coughed more and more, his lungs cleared of water and the Soldier took his own breath. 

The golden man would be okay. 

A heaving cough shook the Soldier’s entire being, deep and bone-aching. It was the worst of any he’d had in all his years on this God-forsaken earth. Sharp like the glass that littered the riverbed, hard like the steel that had nearly swallowed him whole.

By the end of it, he was looking down at a pile of tulips, crimson and shining. Still gasping, he lifted one from the gravel, pressing it to his lips out of habit. Soft, as always. But when he pulled it away, his lips were wet.

His fingers wiped over his mouth and came away red with blood.

Dread dripped over the Soldier in a slow way, mixed with something like understanding. The flowers, they’d been killing him. All along.

As his gaze flicked to the man laying unconscious beside him, he frowned, picking up another tulip and brushing his finger over the satin petals. They were the only beautiful thing he would ever do, and he felt very strangely like the golden man should have them.

Quick and careful, he arranged the flowers around the man’s head, crimson like a blood-stained halo. It felt right. The Soldier took a deep, rattling breath and watched the man sleep for just a moment, just enough to remember it later.

He was beautiful in a way that stole the Soldier’s breath all over again.

Shaking himself, he stood, gravel kicking under his boots as he backed away from the man laying on the shore, legs still in the water that nearly took him from this life and carried him to the next. He had to leave, the Soldier knew that much. He’d never failed a mission before. He didn’t want to know what happened when he did. 

Turning on his heel, he left, walking away from something that pulled so hard at his heart that he felt tears come to his eyes. And wasn’t that strange? He didn’t remember ever crying before. Wet tracks of heat rolled over his cheeks as he hurried away.

The longer he cried, the more it felt like a baptism, like he was being cleansed of something he didn’t have words for. He turned and took one last look at the fallen angel laying alone on the ground and squeezed his eyes shut.

He ran.

——

He left a trail of tulips across the world, scattered everywhere he went. Precious rubies in dull places. Life where there was none.

In the ruins of an abandoned building in Turkey, buried under a pile of gravel.

Tucked in the dark corners of an apartment he’d managed to break into for the night in Romania.

Littered across fields and down alleys and up on high rooftops all across Europe.

The tulips were plentiful, now, and came away wet and wilted. The coughs were more painful than ever, throat constantly raw and aching. 

He thought it was probably nearly the end of it, the sickness. It would rob him of life, and he was waiting to welcome it like a friend long lost. It seemed like a great mercy to leave his ruined life like this, choked by something fragile and beautiful. He didn’t deserve it, but he was greedy enough to take it anyway.

As the flowers came more and more, he found his feet carrying him West, across an ocean, into a big, gleaming city that bustled with life. Down sidewalks that felt familiar and foreign all in the same instance, under street lamps that glowed orange like the sun setting behind red brick buildings. 

He sat on creaking black iron fire escapes, legs hanging over the sides as he watched people going about their lives while they smiled and laughed and cried and screamed and everything in between. As the days dragged on, the piles of tulips grew, until he could no longer hide them. 

He thought of the golden man all the time, thoughts drifting to him so often that he was all the Soldier could see behind his eyes. He started to remember things, flashes of a life that barely felt like his own, still images of the golden man, smaller, but no less fiery.

He remembered his own name as he walked down a street in Brooklyn, coming to a sudden halt at an intersection as the word slammed into him like a brick. 

James. His name was James.

The memories came hard and fast after that, no longer still, no longer blurry. He’d lived a life before the ice, before the cruelty, before the violence. He’d been kind, gentle. He’d had friends, and family. He’d liked to sing sappy love songs, and dance whenever he could.

And he’d loved the golden man so fiercely that it was killing him.

Steve. Stevie.

He gave up hiding the tulips one day, carelessly leaving them like a trail of blood everywhere his memory brought him. 

As his inevitable end drew near, he decided he needed one last thing before the candle of his life was snuffed. One last selfish act.

He searched the city that was his home so many decades ago for days until he found it. An apartment building, old as the city was, worn brick and a skeletal fire escape that climbed to the roof. It was the same one as all those years ago, aged but somehow exactly how he left it.

This was the one. He knew it in his heart.

——

It was well after midnight, and the street was quiet. Brooklyn was asleep.

James was standing on a rooftop, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the building across the street. There hadn’t been movement in the top floor apartment for thirty-seven minutes. 

Silent as a shadow, he crept down the fire escape, glancing both ways before he stuffed his hands in his pockets and made his way calmly across the street. The lock on the door to the building was easy to pick, and then it was eight flights of stairs before he reached the top.

This door was just as easy to pick, alarmingly so, and James had to squeeze his eyes shut for a long moment to choke back the anger that simmered in him at how stupid this man was. Easy target. Like he wasn’t even trying.

Carefully, he pushed the door open, sliding inside and closing it behind himself with a soft _snick_. 

The apartment was near-black, heavy curtains drawn against the light of the street lamps that lined the sidewalk. James took careful steps down the hall he found to the right, fingers running soundlessly along the wall as he made his way from door to door, peeking into each room in search of the man sleeping within.

Finally, the last of three rooms. Soft, steady breathing came from the darkness, and James cracked the door wider and slipped inside. His footsteps made no sound as he moved across the carpeted floor, twelve steps to the bed.

And then the man in bed shifted, rolling to his back. His brow was deeply furrowed, frowning even in sleep, and his breathing came quicker than before. Suddenly, he coughed, long and hard. James backed away, eyes wide as he watched the man sit up and cough his lungs out in a way that was _wrong_ but so heartbreakingly familiar, heaving deep breaths as his eyes blinked open.

A perfect white flower tumbled from his lips, landing in his lap, nearly glowing in the dark. It was an anemone, waxy and beautiful. The smell of flowers was heavy in the air, even from as far as James stood. Lovely. Frightening.

James’ eyes went wider, horror crashing over him like molten earth spilling out of split ground. “Stevie,” he croaked, frozen by the door. “ _No_.”

Steve’s head snapped to where James stood, eyes glittering in the dim blue light of the bedroom. “Bucky,” he said, voice rough from expelling the anemone. “Oh, God, it’s getting worse.”

James frowned, taking a tentative step closer to the bed. “Worse?”

“You’re not here,” Steve murmured, voice going low with resignation.

A long pause settled over the otherwise silent room. James shifted from one foot to the other, hands clenching into fists and releasing. “But I am.”

“Lights,” Steve said, voice hushed. 

Slow like the rising sun, orange light filled the room, illuminating Steve as he sat in bed. He was as beautiful as always, rumpled from an uneasy sleep, golden hair longer than James had last seen it. His sweet, piercing eyes were wet, tears running in silent tracks down his flushed cheeks, clumping his long lashes. 

James fidgeted, fingers twitching as he fought the urge to run. He’d done enough of that for a lifetime.

“How long?” James asked. His eyes fell to the flower sitting pretty in Steve’s lap, so out of place in the Spartan bedroom. A bright spot of white against a forest green comforter.

Steve’s face twisted with grief. “Don’t,” he croaked. “Please.”

“Why not?” James said, voice firm. “How _long_?”

“Long enough.”

“And how are you not dead?”

Steve frowned, head cocking to one side as he searched James’ face. “I could ask you the same thing. I saw the tulips. Sam said there was a ring of them around my head.”

James tensed, feeling the flowers stuffed in his pockets like they each weighed a ton. “They slowed it down,” he lied, choking on the urge to expel the tulips creeping up his throat.

“Jesus,” Steve breathed, pulling his legs up to his chest and dropping his head to his knees. “Who? Who didn’t love you back?”

James’ breath caught, sharp and clawing as his mind scrambled for the right thing to say. He couldn’t tell Steve, not now, not when he knew Steve’s heart ached for someone else. Not when James would be gone soon, anyway. This wasn’t about him, anymore. It was about Steve.

Slowly, Steve lifted his head, eyes wide and glossy as they caught James’. James felt all the sudden like he was drowning in this man, and he had the thought that he was happy to do it. Still, he held his tongue.

“Bucky,” Steve said, voice low and fierce. “Who?”

“I… I can’t tell you.”

“And why the hell not?”

_Because it would kill you,_ Bucky wanted to say _. Because I’d rather just die with this secret than let you fall into guilt for the rest of your life when I leave you for the fourth and final time_.

“Because it’s my business who,” he said instead.

Steve sagged with a hurt so obviously acute that James felt it in his chest. “Your business has always been my business. All our lives. Just like mine is yours. Why aren’t you telling me?”

“Because!” James snapped, hands balling into fists at his sides. The motors of his left arm whirred obscenely loudly in the night-quiet. “You weren’t even supposed to know I was here, Steve. I just wanted to see you, make sure you were okay. I can’t stay.”

Steve’s face contorted, grief warring with that same righteous anger that James was so familiar with. “Why? Why are you running? Why can’t you _stay_ with me, where you belong?”

James growled, turning to face the open door. The hall was right there, an open pathway to escape. He could slip right out, disappear into the city, and be gone by morning. Something bitter twisted his heart, morphing his hurt into something angry. 

Back still to the golden man in bed, he groaned. “I don’t belong here anymore. I don’t. Don’t ever think I do. Forget I was here, Steve, for your own sake. You’ll never see me again.” He took an aborted step toward the hall before Steve was calling him back.

“You will always belong here James Barnes!” Steve yelled, passion coloring every word red. “I’ll find you and drag you back if I have to. I’ve lived my whole life for you and I’m not done yet. As long as there is breath in my body, I will fight for you. Don’t _ever_ fucking doubt that.”

James stopped halfway out into the hall and squeezed his eyes shut. A tickle in his throat was his only warning before he was heaving the worst cough he’d ever had. It hurt like shards of crystal in his throat, tensing every muscle in his body as he choked for breath. The familiar waxy taste of flower filled his mouth as they spilled from his lips like water.

When his wet eyes finally opened, he looked down into a pile of tulips, shining like rubies in the low orange light. They were as beautiful as ever, wet and sticky, and perfect.

“Bucky,” Steve croaked, pain blatant in every syllable. “Bucky, how long? How many?”

James sighed, breath wheezing out of his chest. “Longer than I can remember, anymore. I’ve known them a long time, now. So many of them.” He bent down and lifted one perfect bloom out of the pile with careful metal fingers, lifting it to his lips as always. Softer than anything he deserved. 

“It’s going to kill you. There’s blood.”

“I know it will,” James murmured, brushing the silky petals over his cheek. He could feel the wet press of blood on his fury-flushed skin, sticky and cooling in the air. “It’s okay. I’ve waited a long time for the flowers to kill me.” He huffed a laugh, lips twisting in a grim smile. “Ma always said this is how I’d die. Wish she was alive to tell her she’s right.”

Steve whined, a high, miserable sound that cracked through the air electric. “Don’t say that. Tell me who. Tell me we can fix it.”

“We can’t,” James said simply, dropping the tulip to the floor. “You need to tell whoever it is that you love them, Steve. You’re too good to be choked to death by flowers. I’ll get out of here, you’ll tell them, and they’ll love you back. I know they will.” _I do_ , he wanted to say. _I love you_. 

James heaved another cough, less painful than the last, but the flowers were no less plentiful. Heaps of them, staining the cream colored carpet of Steve’s bedroom. 

“Tell them,” he whispered. “Tell them, and be happy. I’m gone, Steve. Forget me.”

He stepped around the pile of tulips and made off down the hall, leaving the blooms behind like a wordless confession. It was more than he had the strength to say. 

“Oh my God,” Steve murmured as James walked away, shock painfully evident. “Oh my God, Bucky.” There was some shuffling, fabric being pushed aside, and then heavy footsteps across the floor. “Bucky—“

“Don’t,” James breathed, freezing halfway down the hall. “Please don’t.”

“Bucky,” Steve said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s me, isn’t it.”

Tears pricked at James’ eyes as he stood facing the front door, so painfully tempted to run. But the truth was, he was tired, done with the running. Maybe it was time to stop. He could die like this, in this place. It’d be better than anywhere else.

“It’s you,” he said, tears spilling down his blood-hot cheeks. “It’s always been you. I’m sorry.”

Sudden laughter burst forth from behind him, bright with something he couldn’t understand. He spun, frowning, to find Steve crying through the laughter, big tears running down his cheeks, glistening like diamonds. 

“Bucky,” he cried, wry, watery grin curving his pink lips. “Bucky, it’s _you_.”

“What?” James breathed, heart pounding.

Steve’s eyes were sparkling with something like relief, something that made his whole being seem lighter. “It’s you. It’s been you. For as long as I can remember. Yeah, the asthma was bad, but the flowers made it worse.”

“Steve,” James cried, face crumpling. He fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands as a rough sob choked out of his lungs. It surprised him when there was no urge to cough, no need to expel flowers from his chest. He felt the absence of it like a death.

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve murmured, dropping to kneel in front of James, gently pulling his hands away from his face. “Honey. Sweetheart. I love you.”

“Stevie,” James croaked, opening his eyes to look into those that he had been longing for for decades. “I love you so goddamn much.”

Steve sighed, pitching forward to collapse against James’ chest, and James fell back to sit on the floor, lap full of the love of his life. They hung in that moment for a long time, clinging to each other like they might disappear if they didn’t hold tight enough. A lifetime apart was too much.

“Please stay,” Steve whispered, face buried in James’ neck. James could feel hot tears sliding over his collarbone, clinging and wet. “Please.”

“Yeah,” James said, looking ahead with eyes unfocused. He thought of freedom, of choice. He thought of living, really living, of no longer being afraid. He thought of this golden man, his angel, the one he’d stayed alive for for a lifetime without even knowing it.

He thought of the tulips, and what they’d meant to him for so long. 

“Yeah, I will.”

Later, when they’d had their fill of quiet and clinging hugs, Steve dragged James to the bed, carefully peeling his clothes off until he was almost bare, crushed tulips spilling from his pockets like a confession. Steve’s eyes shone with tears as he lifted handfuls of them to his face, pressing them to his cheeks. 

“They’re so pretty, Buck,” he whispered, eyes raking lovingly over each one. 

“For you,” James said simply, brushing his knuckles over Steve’s tear-stained cheek. “Always.”

“Want you to sleep,” Steve said gently, sniffling, as he pushed James into the bed and crawled in next to him. “Right here with me.”

“Okay,” James sighed, sinking down into a mattress that was impossibly soft, softer than anything he’d felt in a long time. Softer, even, than the petals of a tulip.

“Lights,” Steve said, pulling the blankets up over their shoulders, laying on his side facing James, a bare few inches apart. The lights dimmed and flicked off, plunging the room into the dark of night once more.

James laid still for a few minutes, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark until he could almost make out Steve’s face. His eyes were open, too.

“Stevie,” James whispered. “Can I kiss you?”

A gentle smile curved Steve’s lips. “Please.”

Slow, careful, James leaned in, stopping a hairsbreadth from Steve’s lips. “I love you. More than anything in my whole stupid life. And I’m sorry you woke up alone.”

A wounded sound punched out of Steve’s chest as he dove forward, closing the distance between them to catch James in a heart stopping kiss. A big paw of a hand buried in James’ long hair, fingers clenching to hold him close.

James had never been kissed like that in his life. He could feel the fury of Steve’s love in every rough press, every nip of his teeth. Something settled in his chest, something that had been bitter and alone for a long time.

With a soft smack of lips, James pulled away panting. “I cried tulips for you for decades, Stevie. Only for you.”

Steve made a noise like he’d been punched in the gut, leaning in to ghost his lips over James’. “You know what anemones mean?” he whispered around another desperate kiss. “Undying love. Undying. For you, Buck. Always for you.”

A rough sob broke from James’ chest and he gripped Steve tight by the hair to yank him as close as he could. The kiss was impossibly fierce, built up over a lifetime and finally let loose. Before long, James was crying with it, shoving hard at Steve’s shoulder to lay him on his back.

“Steve,” he groaned, wet eyes dragging over him. The moon peeked through the curtains, laying like a blade of blue right across Steve’s face. He was stunning. “Stevie.”

Panting, Steve nodded frantically. “Yeah, Buck, come on. Do it.” He gripped James hard by his hips and tugged him down into his lap, rolling his hips up in the same motion.

He was hard, cock nestled against James’ ass as he pressed up and up, dragging James over him with a strength that made James breathless. 

“How?” James said, returning the movement in kind, rocking down and down until Steve was sobbing beneath him.

Steve groaned, throwing his head back against the pillows as he took a moment to breathe. When he looked back up at James, his eyes were on fire. “In me, in you, don’t care. Just please, anything.”

James nodded, rocking steadily as he dropped to lay above Steve on his palms. Every dirty grind had his clothed cock dragging over Steve’s, making them both shudder and moan. “Want you in me, want it. Please.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, breathless. “Anything. I’ll give you anything.”

James whined, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to collect himself. “You got slick? Please tell me you got slick.”

“Nightstand. Bottom drawer. Don’t have the fancy stuff, but I’ve got vaseline.”

James dove for the nightstand, yanking the drawer right out in his haste to dig out the little plastic tub buried in the bottom. He tossed it to the bed by Steve’s hip and sat back on Steve’s thighs, wriggling out of his boxers and throwing them off the bed.

“Put your hands on me, Stevie, please, I need it,” he begged, rolling his bare cock over Steve’s stomach. The friction was perfect, gut-aching.

A hand gripped his ass tight, digging into his flesh as it pulled enough to bare him to the warm air, and searching fingers brushed over his hole, a teasing touch that had him whining.

“So good, Buck, so pretty,” Steve babbled, taking his hands away to twist the cap off the vaseline and scoop some onto his fingers. And then they were back between James’ cheeks, pressing around his sensitive skin and in.

“Fuck,” James cursed, planting his elbows on the bed to hover inches from Steve’s face. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he looked down at the fallen angel below him, and his jaw went slack as one thick finger pressed in knuckle deep.

Steve worked him open quick and sloppy until James was a wreck in his lap, until he couldn’t take it anymore. Huffing, James pushed Steve’s hand away, yanked his boxers down to his thighs, and took his cock in his own grip, pressing it right where he wanted it and sinking down hard.

It stung, but it was so good, stretching him wide and full. Steve let out an aching, drawn-out groan, fingers digging into James’ ass to pull him flush to his lap. James’ cock hung heavy against Steve’s hip, hard and leaking over his pale skin.

“Jesus,” Steve hissed, teeth gritted so hard James feared they’d crack. “Feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart, so good. And you’re mine, huh? All mine.”

“I am,” James sobbed, lifting up to roll back down, harder than he probably should have. It hurt, but it was a good hurt. He wanted to break over Steve like this, and maybe, if he was lucky, Steve would put him back together. “Only yours, for so long.”

“Lights,” Steve growled, grabbing James hard by the waist to shove in deep. The lights came on and James’ breath left him in a rush.

There was something about the look in Steve’s eyes that made James want to bare his neck, roll over, whine and sob and beg so pretty. The look was claiming, hungry, and James wanted to see it as often as he could for the rest of his life.

A splash of white at the edge of his vision dragged his attention away, and he turned to look, hips still rolling in Steve’s lap.

It was a pile of anemone blooms, scattered across the floor beside the bed like a sea of white over the thick carpet. Big ones, and small ones, full blooms and little blossoms. Pristine, ghostly. James choked, stilling his hips as his eyes raked over every single one.

“Don’t,” Steve whispered, cupping James’ cheek in a warm palm. “We’ll get rid of them. Don’t look at ‘em.” Careful and sweet, he pulled James down flush to his chest, tucked his legs over James’ and rolled, pushing James into the mattress.

“They’re beautiful, Stevie,” James murmured, weeping silently as Steve pressed in as close as he could get, hips rolling smooth and steady.

“Not nearly as beautiful as you are, Buck,” Steve whispered, laying kiss after kiss over every inch of James’ face. “Loved you all my life.”

“Loved you, too,” James croaked, sinking a hand into Steve’s hair and clenching it into a fist just to hear Steve’s breath stutter in his chest. “Since Thomas. Knew since Thomas.”

Steve groaned, eyes squeezing shut as his drove his hips in hard, carving out a space for himself in the tight clutch of James’ body. “Wanted to kill ‘im,” he growled, burning eyes snapping open as he looked down at James. “Wanted to kill ‘im for what he did to you.”

“Didn’t have to,” James said breathlessly, rocking up in time with Steve’s deep thrusts, fingers digging into the flesh of his strong back. “Wasn’t anybody else for me, after that. Never.”

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve breathed, hands pressing bruises into James’ hip and shoulder. His relentless cock kept burying deep, James could feel it in his throat, and every other thrust ground right against the spot in him that had him seeing stars. His own neglected cock laid heavy against his belly, red and weeping. 

“Stevie,” James whined, throwing his head back as his breath came quicker and quicker. Heat pooled in the cradle of his hips, rippling out to his fingers and toes in sheer molten _want_. “Stevie, I’m—“

“Yeah,” Steve groaned, leaning closer to ghost his lips over James’, messy kisses that missed more often than they hit. “Yeah, come on, sweetheart, give it to me. I want it.”

James cried out as that heat tore through him like a forest on fire, consuming every cell of him, whiting out his vision. His cock throbbed and he spilled over his belly, sticky ropes of white that smeared over his skin and Steve’s. His cries sounded pitiful as he shivered through it, overly-sensitive where Steve was still buried in him.

“Oh, Jesus,” Steve breathed, rhythm stuttering as he stared wide-eyed down at James, eyes flicking from the mess on his belly to his eyes and back. “So fucking pretty. So pretty.”

James huffed a breathless laugh, bracketing Steve’s hips with his knees. “Come on, Stevie, you gonna let me have it?” A gleaming metal hand laid over Steve’s heart, and James could swear he could feel it pounding against his fingers. “I want you, honey,” he murmured. “All of you.”

A gut-aching roar choked out of Steve’s chest as he shoved in hard and held there, hips slowing to a stop as he fell forward, face buried against James’ throat. James could feel the dull throb of his cock buried deep, and he whined with it, burying his hands in Steve’s hair.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, over and over like a prayer. “Bucky. Bucky.” He pressed that word into the flushed skin of James’ cheek, and his throat, his shoulder, his chest. “Bucky.” James could feel tears littering his skin, cooling in the evening air. Palpable grief.

James sighed, tugging Steve up gently by the hair. “I love you,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

“I love you,” Steve cried, face twisted with a relief that Bucky could feel in his chest. “You’re never leaving my sight again.”

James cracked a smile, sniffling through his own tears. “That a promise, punk?”

And just like that, Steve’s face relaxed, decades melting away until all James could see was an eighteen year old boy. Blue eyes, long lashes, freckles. The same face James had been looking at for his whole life.

“I promise you, Buck,” Steve said, voice so soft. “You’re never leaving me again.”

“Never again,” James said, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Til the end of the line.”

“And even then,” Steve said, smiling so sweet that James thought his heart would stop.

James sighed, contentment bleeding through him honey-slow. “Even then.”

After a quick cleanup and more lazy kissing, Steve finally yawned, dropping down to lay half over James. “You gotta be exhausted,” he murmured, tucking a hand under James’ head. “Sleep with me.”

James hummed, curling his arms protectively around Steve’s warm back. “I will, honey. Sleep.”

“I love you,” Steve said softly, voice going thick and slow as sleep started to take him. “So much.”

James cracked a smile, eyes caught on the sliver of the night sky he could see through the curtains. The moon was high and full, and it was quiet. “Love you, too.”

—— 

Dawn broke early, pink light peeking through the gaps in the curtains, and Bucky blinked himself awake as he took a deep breath. No tickle, no cough, no sore throat.

He was free of the flowers.

He sighed, rolling to his side to find Steve right beside him, laying on his stomach facing Bucky. He was deep in sleep, and he looked the youngest he’d looked in a long time, free of the oppressive weight of the world that he’d been carrying all his life.

Bucky wiggled close, tucking under Steve’s chin and closing his eyes. “If I’d said it then,” he whispered to his sleeping lover, “would it have changed anything? Could I have spared you a lifetime of hurt?”

He sighed, sliding a hand up into Steve’s hair, carding his fingers through in slow passes as he spoke softly the things that had haunted him for so long. “They woulda killed us. Or worse. That’s why I kept my mouth shut, honey, I’m sorry.” 

His eyes welled up with tears, grief bubbling up inside him until he choked on it. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, pressing in as close as he could. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Steve murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Bucky flinched as that voice rumbled in his ear. “How long have you been awake, punk?”

Steve hummed, looping an arm over Bucky’s waist to pull him close. “Plenty long.” He leaned back, sleep-heavy eyes blinking slowly open to catch Bucky’s. “I’d live this hurt for you again and again if it meant I could have you like this,” he said softly, bending close to press a sweet kiss to Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky’s breath snagged in his throat, and he readied himself for a cough that wouldn’t come. “Sap,” he said, even as tears rolled down his cheeks. 

Steve huffed a laugh, eyes sparkling with adoration. “You already knew that.”

“I do know that,” Bucky murmured, smiling softly. “And I love it.”

Those ocean eyes crinkled at the corners as Steve beamed, and he took a deep breath and let it out slow, fingers pressing into the muscle of Bucky’s back. “I love you, too,” he said slowly, still half-asleep, the most precious thing Bucky had ever seen in his life.

After that, there were no more flowers, none but the two pressed in a frame on the bedroom wall, a single perfect tulip next to a beautiful anemone, red and white. A deep love made tangible, visible to anyone who might look.

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? I'm a sucker for this trope. The pining? The angst? The sheer level of pure of heart, dumb of ass? So I wrote this for myself, and I'd like to share it with you. Let me know how it makes you feel.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I love this child of mine.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @inevitablemeow
> 
> Art by me, I love making little doodles for my works.


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